


Your Problem Now

by tiniestawoo



Series: teen wolf tumblr drabbles and ficlets [17]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Sickfic, overprotective supernatural boyfriends, the inherent eroticism of not being able to breathe through your nose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:41:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27252109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiniestawoo/pseuds/tiniestawoo
Summary: Calls from the Sheriff were always awkward. Calls from the Sheriff before 7am were downrightterrifying. “Jordan, you’re off today,” Noah said, leaving no room for argument.Jordan blinked a few times. “Okay. Did I do something wrong?” he asked, carefully reviewing memories of the last few days of his shift.“No. Stiles is sick and I’ve decided that if you’re going to date myeighteen year old sonthe least you can do is be the one to deal with him when he’s sick.” There was a brief pause. “Or, y’know, the two to deal with him. I’ll let you call Derek. I’m surprised he’s not already at my door, supernatural senses and all.”or, the one where Stiles is sick, and his boyfriends take care of him.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Jordan Parrish/Stiles Stilinski
Series: teen wolf tumblr drabbles and ficlets [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1896046
Comments: 5
Kudos: 144





	Your Problem Now

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hun__Sher](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hun__Sher/gifts).



> This was really a joint effort of like six people goading me into writing sickfic, but I associate Sterrish with Lulu since that's who I agonized over the ship name with so, here we are!!

Jordan had just finished putting on his belt when his phone rang on the nightstand. He glanced first at the alarm clock for the time and then back to the phone. Whoever was calling him, it wasn’t Derek, who was usually awake but not yet willing to socialize at this time of day, and it certainly wasn’t Stiles, who was unbearable if woken before 8am. 

He reached for the phone and stared at the caller ID with a raised eyebrow. Answering it with a hard swallow he said, “Good morning, Sheriff.” 

Calls from the Sheriff were always awkward. Calls from the Sheriff before 7am were downright _terrifying_. “Jordan, you’re off today,” Noah said, leaving no room for argument. 

Jordan blinked a few times. “Okay. Did I do something wrong?” he asked, carefully reviewing memories of the last few days of his shift. 

“No. Stiles is sick and I’ve decided that if you’re going to date my _eighteen year old son_ the least you can do is be the one to deal with him when he’s sick.” There was a brief pause. “Or, y’know, the two to deal with him. I’ll let you call Derek. I’m surprised he’s not already at my door, supernatural senses and all.” 

Jordan nodded, still frozen in the middle of his bedroom with the phone pressed to his ear. He decided against pointing out to Noah that he too was technically supernatural, and that Derek’s senses weren’t _that_ enhanced. Instead of arguing anything – arguing with either Stilinski was an exhausting and often pointless process – he just said, “I’ll be over as soon as I can.”

“I’m taking one of your sick days for this.” Noah said, his tone lighter. 

Jordan laughed at that. “Sure thing, Sheriff.” 

\--

‘Stiles is sick I guess? Sheriff says it’s our job to take care of him. See you there?’

Derek yawned and reread the text from Jordan. He grabbed for his half-full cup of coffee and took another long pull, letting the warm, bitter taste settle against his tongue as he mulled over the words. 

He had many questions about the content of the text, but the number of question marks seemed to indicate that Jordan too was unsure of exactly what was going on. Derek briefly ran through what he’d planned to get done today. 

Which really was nothing he couldn’t put off, because he spent his days as an independently-wealthy 20-something reading books and staring at a blank laptop screen trying to write literally _anything_ that someone might want to read. Sometimes he sat through werewolf council conference calls, which was his duty as the pack Second. Those weren’t really all that more exciting than staring at a blank computer screen, though.

‘Should I bring anything?’ He sent back.

Jordan’s response was: ‘I’m already at Target. What do you know about human illness anyway? :P’ Derek glared at the phone, but Jordan _was_ right. He sat back in his chair, finishing the cup of coffee and climbing to his feet to grab another one from the pot.

Being a werewolf, he knew the coffee was probably just a placebo effect at this point. Both Stiles and Jordan were well aware that waiting until _after_ Derek had his second cup of coffee to interact was the suggested course of action most mornings. It was probably a good thing they didn’t all live together. (Yet.)

Jordan was an early riser, Stiles needed to sleep in, and Derek was a bear (or...a wolf) until he’d had two cups of liquid happiness. It made Derek wonder what their future would look like. Finishing his second cup, he headed to his bedroom with a smile on his face. 

It didn’t really matter what his future looked like, as long as he had Jordan and Stiles.

\--

Jordan expected Derek to have beaten him to the Stilinski house, with his overprotective werewolf instincts, but he was surprised to find the driveway empty aside from the old blue Jeep. He pulled up behind it and got out, carrying the bag of odds and ends he’d picked up from Target on the way. 

The Sheriff hadn’t said what _kind_ of sick Stiles was, so Jordan had no choice but to pick up a variety of things: cough drops, dayquil, pepto bismol, a box of tissues, several cans of chicken noodle soup and three of the big gatorade bottles. Once, Jordan had purchased a movie, and the look of abject horror on Stiles’s face when he realized Jordan had spent _actual money_ on something like that had dissuaded him from making such mistakes again.

(“Where are we supposed to get movies then?” “The _internet_ , Jord.”)

He carried his bag of supplies - double bagged with the weight of the gatorade and cans of soup - up to the front door and tried the handle. He was surprised to find it unlocked but well, he had told Noah he’d be there as soon as he could. That, and, even sick, he knew better than to underestimate Stiles. He may be human, but that didn’t make him helpless.

“Stiles?” Jordan called, realizing as he entered that he actually had no idea how Noah knew Stiles was sick. It was only just now coming up on 8am, which meant that given normal circumstances, Stiles would still be asleep.

The loud sound of a nose being blown upstairs gave Jordan his answer. Whatever kind of sick Stiles was had probably woken him up. “Ub here.” Stiles called, miserably.

Jordan tried not to laugh as he kicked off his shoes and headed up the stairs, pushing open Stiles’s bedroom door. “A little birdy told me you weren’t feeling well.” He said, dropping onto the corner of the bed. “And...forced me into using a sick day?”

Stiles looked awful. He was even paler than usual, moles looking especially dark against the sickly pallor of his skin. His nose was red and irritated, and he kept sniffling every few minutes. He coughed a few times before he spoke too, small, coughs that seemed to more relieve a tickle than actually dislodge something from his lunges. “My dad called you?”

Jordan took off his jacket and tossed it somewhere in the direction of Stiles’s computer chair before sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Your dad decided that you needed company, I guess.” Jordan couldn’t help the smile that came to his lips as Stiles, seemingly magnetized, fell forward to rest his head on Jordan’s shoulder. Jordan wrapped his arms around Stiles’s body, stroking one hand along his back. “Did he call Derek?” Stiles asked, somewhat muffled between the stuffy nose and his face pressed into Jordan’s shirt.

“No, he told me I could do that. Even made a joke about Derek already knowing you were sick because of werewolf instincts.” Jordan traced the knobs of Stiles’s spine, pressing a kiss to the side of his head. “He’ll be over soon. I think I texted him during his first cup of coffee.” That reminded him. “Did you wake up sick?”

Stiles nodded, halfheartedly, still not lifting his head. “I started coughing in the middle of the night. Woke dad ub.” 

Stiles leaned away after he finished speaking, as if saying the word ‘cough’ had manifested the very action itself, tucking his face into the corner of his elbow and letting out a string of bark-like noises that Jordan was now sure didn’t seem productive in the slightest. Sometime in the middle of it, there were footsteps on the stairs, and Jordan glanced back over his shoulder to smile at Derek, whose face was pinched in concern.

“Oh hey–” “–Der, nice of you–” “–to join us.” Stiles managed between coughs, eventually flopping back onto the bed with one of his arms thrown over his eyes. “Fuck.” 

Derek had similarly divested himself of his jacket, and he squeezed Jordan on the shoulder briefly as he made his way over to the other side of the bed. Jordan glanced up and smiled, Derek leaning in for a brief, comfortable kiss.

Sometimes, it still mystified Jordan that he was here. He watched Derek sit down on the opposite side of Stiles’s bed, lean over and rest his ear against Stiles’s chest. Jordan felt his smile widen, watching the careful way Derek rested his other arm along Stiles’s, twining their fingers together as he listened. 

After a minute, he sat up. “Just wheezy. I think you’ll live.” 

Jordan had to bite back a laugh at the malice in the glance Stiles gave Derek when he lifted his arm. “Okay you two.” Jordan nudged Derek’s shoulder with his own. “Be nice, he’s sick.”

“You’re no fun,” Derek teased, but his smile was bright.

Even Stiles’s face had shifted into a smile, and Jordan felt one of his hands – warmer than Stiles usually ran – slid into his own. “I’m glad you’re here.” Stiles said, his eyes heavy-lidded. “I’m gonna go back to sleep though, It’s still so fucking early.” 

Jordan lifted Stiles’s hand to his own lips to press a kiss into it. “I brought medicine. You should take something and then you can nap.” He stood up, wandering to where he’d dropped the bag. He rifled through it to find the dayquil and the cough suppressant, tossing one of the Gatorade’s over his shoulder with the full confidence that his werewolf boyfriend would catch it. 

He turned around to see Derek crack the gatorade and pass it off to Stiles, who drank from it while Jordan fought with the packaging on the medicine.

And fought.

And fought.

The damn blister packs were supposed to be _childproof_ not _hellhound_ proof. 

Derek was snickering into Stiles’s shoulder, Stiles petting Derek’s hair and biting his lip to hold in his own chuckling. Jordan finally tossed the pack at Derek. “Here, you open it then.” 

Derek, ever the show off, flicked out a claw and sliced into the packaging – and directly into the liquid capsule, watching orange-red liquid slide down his finger, sending Jordan into a laughing fit and Stiles into yet another coughing fit.

Several minutes later, Derek’s hands were clean, Stiles had been adequately medicated, and they were all snuggled down into Stiles’s bed for the first of what Jordan suspected would be the first of several naps today. Stiles was on his side, his back pressed along the length of Derek’s chest. Jordan faced Stiles, one if his arms tucked over both of his boyfriends, and his forehead pressed against the sleepy humans.

“Love you.” Stiles murmured quietly. Derek whispered it against the back of Stiles’s neck and reached over to squeeze Jordan’s side. Jordan grinned, more thankful than he could have predicted for the day off.

“Love you both.”


End file.
